The Armor of Aslan
by Almyra
Summary: The night before the Battle of Beruna, Peter and Edmund receive an unexpected gift.
1. Anxiety

**Disclaimer:** Of course they're not mine. Turkin and Palomnus, yes – Peter and Edmund, no, gosh darn it.

**AN:** I generally prefer sticking to the books as far as plot/dialogue/characterization goes, but at the same time, I think the new movie did a swell job of fleshing out some of the description. So, while this story tries to stay close to Lewis's Peter, Edmund, and the events, Ed has Skander's face and their armor is as it appears in the movie. I have also tried to keep the boys acting/speaking their ages, so I do apologize if they seem older. I can only plead the "air of Narnia" beginning to work (that and my own failings… :o) Hopefully I've done ok. Enjoy!

_Aslan's mood affected everyone that evening. Peter was feeling uncomfortable too at the idea of fighting the battle on his own; the news that Aslan might not be there had come as a great shock to him. Supper that evening was a quiet meal.  
The Triumph of the Witch - The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_ by C.S. Lewis

**The Armor of Aslan**

Peter's hands gripped the edge of the campaign table, bracing his body wearily against it. Narnia spread out before him, its forests, rivers, lakes, mountains, and plains inked in simple, elegant, excruciating detail. In spite of the beauty of the map, Peter felt his head beginning to ache as he tried to remember what Aslan had advised about the upcoming battle. The military jargon wasn't so much the problem – he had been quite interested in such things before the trip through the wardrobe – and the outlined strategy made perfect sense. Peter didn't really doubt his ability to issue orders and commands with confidence, but when he thought of fighting without Aslan at his side, his stomach had no trouble tying itself into intricate knots. He felt breathless with the fear of it, almost weightless with anxiety, yet burdened with dreadful inevitability.

A rustle of heavy cloth made him glance up. Edmund stood in the doorway of the small tent, holding back the flap; his dark eyes somber. The flickering lantern and torchlight cast strange shadows over his face. The sour bruise on his cheekbone and the scabbed-over cut beside his eye seemed more pronounced, and black blood still clotted his split lip. "Peter?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, Ed?" the older boy replied, straightening and rolling his shoulders.

"Turkin the dwarf has asked for both of us to come," Edmund said, "As soon as we're able. He has gifts."

Peter raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Gifts?" he echoed, as he made sure of the sword at his waist and slung his shield over his back. "Isn't Turkin one of the armorers? I'm finding it difficult to keep all these names straight."

Edmund allowed a small smile to cross his lips as he stepped back to allow his brother exit. "I know. And yes, he's one of the armorers – the chief, actually. I gathered from our brief," he paused slightly, as if to choose his words, "inspection that here the dwarves are the blacksmiths and metalworkers, which is usually the case in stories and legends from … our world."

"Yes, of course," Peter replied as they made their way through a camp preparing for slumber, past fire pits, tents, and occasional sentries. "You're right – I should have remembered. I'm sorry. I'm being rather thick tonight."

Edmund glanced at him but said nothing and continued walking, his right hand wrapped tightly around his sword hilt. Peter slipped back into his own thoughts and began to worry at Aslan's directives once more. Fortunately, the camp was compactly arranged and small, and it was not long before the boys came to the bright, glowing forges of the dwarves. Here organized chaos and bustling activity still held sway, for the Narnians were to war in the morning, and their weapons must be ready, sharp, and to hand. Edmund greeted a burly, redheaded dwarf who met them at the edge of the enclave, wiping his hands on a dirty cloth.

"Yer majesties," he said, bowing stiffly in his leather apron, "We're honored by yer presence. Thank ye, yer highnesses, for comin'."

"We're glad to, Turkin," Peter said, although being addressed as king took him slightly aback, "Edmund told me you had something to show us."

"His highness spoke truth. Please, beggin' yer pardons, but if ye'll step this way…" The chief armorer turned and led them through a maze of anvils, forges, weapons stands, and tents. Many of the other dwarves paused in their work to offer respectful greetings: bowing if they were able, nodding their hoary heads if they were not. Peter and Edmund returned these gestures as well as they could while trying to keep pace. Finally they came to a pavilion standing a little apart from the rest. "We been savin' this on Aslan's orders – he had us start workin' it as soon as he came – we finished up several days ago," the dwarf said as he held open the flap. "Told us as ye needed proper gear, fit for kings. We hope it pleases ye."


	2. The Gift

Ducking slightly, first Peter and then Edmund entered the pavilion, and they simultaneously stopped short as they saw what awaited them. Two finely wrought suits of armor stood neatly on wooden stands, the chain mail hauberks, leggings, and coifs glittering in the bright lantern light. Helmets, vembraces, pauldrons, greaves, and sabatons shone with fine etching and decorative work, and the red velvet tabards were embroidered with splendid, rampant, golden lions.

Peter drew in a sharp breath and found he had no words to express his amazement. Beside him, Edmund also seemed slightly dazed, his lips parted with shock. Finally, he gave a low whistle. "Great Scott," he said. Turkin had come to stand between them, looking satisfied at their reaction. "We'll need to fit it to ye," he said, moving forward, "It looks 'bout right, now I see ye with it, and o'course Aslan himself gave the measurements, but jest to make certain, it's best to have ye try it on. We kin make adjustments a'fore you need it on the morrow."

The boys glanced at one another, the thought of the impending battle slicing through their delighted astonishment – the reminder that the armor was not just for show and instead was to protect them against a deadly enemy. "We are truly honored by this," Peter told Turkin, but the dwarf cheerfully shook his head. "'Twas Aslan, yer majesty. He is the one you should thank." He pointed to the armor on the left. "This is yers, High King, and the other belongs to yer royal brother. I'm assumin' ye are somewhat familiar with how to put it on?"

Edmund took his helmet from the stand, turning it over in his hands and smiling. "Somewhat," he said, "Though I'm afraid we'll need your help – at least for the first try."

Turkin nodded once. "Very good, yer highness. If it please ye, I'll need to call my 'prentices." At Peter's acquiescing nod, he went out of the pavilion, leaving them to admire – admittedly with some trepidation – their gifts.

"Peter," Edmund said after several moments, "Does all of this make you feel, well…odd?"

Peter looked up from where he was examining his smooth, fluted metal greaves and met his brother's gaze. "Yes," he said, "It's like waking up from a dream, or going into one. On our journey to meet Aslan, I had to keep from pinching myself at times. Fauns? Talking beavers? And yet, this is _real_. Aslan is the most real of all."

"Yes," Edmund replied, dropping his gaze and fingering the velvet edging on his tabard. "And I'm glad of it."

There was silence again until the younger boy spoke once more. "I _am_ sorry, Peter. For what I did."

"I know, Ed," Peter replied simply, "And I believe you." They looked at each other over the dwarf-made finery, deep brown eyes and sky blue, and suddenly Peter smiled, warm and affectionate. His eyes stinging slightly, Edmund smiled back and thought that Aslan had been right about forgiveness and its freedom.

Turkin chose that moment to re-enter with two other dwarves – both younger, but both with the same riotous red hair and beards. Accompanying the armorers was a graying faun, whom Turkin introduced as Palomnus. "I have come to assist as your valet, my kings," he said, sketching a courtly bow from the waist. "As you are going to war, the first thing I shall do in your service is learn to fasten your helmets properly. Can't have your heads flying off in the midst of battle from lack of protection."

"That _would_ be rather horrid," Edmund replied, a sardonic half smile pulling at the edge of his mouth. Palomnus's hazel eyes twinkled in response, but he merely nodded. "Just so, sire."

Turkin humphed a bit and rolled his eyes. "Yer majesties?" he gestured to the suits of armor with his brawny arm, and he and his apprentices set to work.


	3. Comfort

Out of a wooden chest they took soft leather leggings, tunics, and long, quilted jackets of fine burgundy colored wool. These they had the boys put on first, and over them they drew the shining hauberks and the mail leggings, which Turkin informed them were called _chausses_. Then came the tabards and the coifs. While the dwarves were not as polished in their court manners, they certainly handled the armor with nimble skill, and they were considerate in teaching the boys and Palomnus the proper way to layer the pieces and lace and buckle the fastenings.

Peter's plate armor – the pauldrons to protect his shoulders, the vembraces to protect his forearms, the greaves to protect his shins and calves, and the sabatons to protect his feet – was expertly made and surprisingly light, although Peter was starting to sweat already under the many layers he wore. He found his range of motion and ease of movement to be much better than he had originally thought. He was given a full gauntlet for his sword arm and supple, beautifully tooled leather gloves for his hands.

Edmund's armor was very similar, although he had no vembraces, nor did he have gloves. He was, however, presented with a shield, and when the process was complete, both he and Peter stood motionless for a moment, their hearts beating rapidly. Before this, it hadn't seemed quite possible that they were meant to be kings, but as they slowly drew their swords, hefted their shields, and shrugged their shoulders beneath the pauldrons, they felt almost immediately _transformed_.

"Mmmhmm," Turkin murmured, watching them carefully. His apprentices moved between the boys, checking the armor. Finally they stood back with the older dwarf, crossed their arms, and nodded. "A p'fect fit," one said, "Well done."

"Well done indeed," Palomnus echoed quietly, his eyes focused on the brothers, who had now begun a careful sparring match, slow swings met with equally paced parries. The clear ringing of metal rebounded in the pavilion, and although their faces were flushing with effort, both Peter and Edmund moved with cautious confidence and the beginnings of what would come to be a warrior's grace.

A grin split Peter's face as he ducked his brother's swing and brought the tip of his weapon to rest beneath Edmund's chin. "Surrender, my lord," he said pompously, puffing slightly, "I have bested you."

Edmund suddenly laughed. "Very good, Peter," he replied, "You have the right words. But have you really…" he suddenly spun to his right, sweeping his shining sword up with the movement, "…bested me?" The older boy hesitated with the blade at his neck and then smiled at his brother. "Clever, Ed," he said, "I surrender."

There was silence for a moment, and then Palomnus spoke. "Excellent, my kings," he said, "The armor does you great credit, to be certain. I know our land is in capable hands; thanks be to Aslan."

"And our thanks go also to you, Turkin, and your apprentices," Peter said as he and Edmund sheathed their swords, "for giving of your time to make such gifts. I know we'll be safer tomorrow because of them."

The chief armorer nodded, obviously gratified. "It's what we do best, sire," he said gruffly, waving a thickly callused hand. "Radkin and Dentan here'll take the stands to yer tent fer ye. If ye need anything, ever – come see us."

"We will," Edmund said, "Thank you."

Palomnus broke the slightly awkward silence that followed by clapping his hands. "Well, now that the proper words have been said at the proper time, I believe the second thing I shall do in your service, my lieges, is to escort you back to your tent and into bed. Can't have you nodding off in the middle of the battle tomorrow, now, can we?"

Suddenly Peter felt his stomach, which had slowly come undone with the exciting diversion, twist itself over again, although not nearly as hard or as nauseatingly as before. "Somehow I think I'll stay awake," he said as they left the armorers behind and made their way back through camp.

"But a good night's sleep will certainly help," the faun replied from where he walked behind them, his hands clasped behind his back.

"If I fall asleep," Edmund muttered, but only his brother heard him.

They came to their tent and entered to find Peter's campaign table moved carefully to the side and two cots, piled high with pillows and blankets, set up near the tent walls. Turkin's two apprentices brought the stands in and stayed long enough to see that Palomnus and the boys were well on their way to successfully removing the armor before taking their leave. Palomnus in his turn brought them hot, earthily spiced drinks, which made them pleasantly drowsy, and then bowed, said he would wake them at dawn, and left also.

"Did you hear what they said, Peter?" Edmund asked softly, tucked beneath the soft-weave of his blanket, "How Aslan gave them the measurements for the armor _days_ ago?"

"Yes," Peter responded, his arms crossed beneath his head. A haunting, soft music began just outside, and he could see the fire-shadow of Palomnus and his pipes against the tent walls.

"­_Our_ measurements, Peter. I'm sure Lu hadn't even come on her first visit. He knew." There was a curious note to Edmund's voice, and an odd choked sound came from his cot before he fell silent.

"Yes," Peter said again, remembering the glorious terror of looking into Aslan's deep golden eyes. Of the limitless love he had seen there, along with the tremendous majesty and the bottomless sorrow. For a moment, he wondered what business would be so important to take Aslan away from them when he was needed most, but his thoughts were interrupted by a giant yawn from Edmund. Peter smiled into the darkness.

"Aslan gave us his armor," he whispered to himself. "He is never far away." And within minutes, the future High King of Narnia was sound asleep.


End file.
